


Tread Lightly

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3078239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuba is rough around the edges and his centre of gravity is low while Lukasz is taller, narrower around the waist and wrists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tread Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure I sat down to write some fluff (because these two, honestly) but wrote this instead (although the aforementioned fluff is in progress.)

_Błogosławieni, którzy się smucą, albowiem oni będą pocieszeni._

 

Kuba is rough around the edges and his centre of gravity is low while Łukasz is taller, narrower around the waist and wrists. Kuba remembers thinking that Łukasz was too soft to be a defender, that his smile was too wide. Of course, the truth is Łukasz is powerful beyond measure, studs-deep in mud and running against freezing cold gusts of air that sting his ears and cheeks red. Kuba watches him, dirtied water seeping through his gloves from a slip in the box, worrying that the next gust will catch in his too-big jersey and carry him off. 

It doesn't.

Kuba decides that he likes him. 

 

In 2004, Kuba is the wise old age of eighteen and Łukasz is nineteen; Switzerland is expectedly bland. 

Kuba flicks through a dog-earned, paperback Bible that's written in a language that he does not yet understand while Łukasz moans of growing pains, clutching and clawing at an invisible tormentor on the other side of the room. Kuba tries not to notice, not to stare, but Łukasz looks so pitiful, his bright eyes screaming mercy in the low light. 

He prays for him. It's quiet and quick and most certainly not the last time. God's power is made perfect in weakness, he remembers, smiling as Łukasz tires of complaining. He falls asleep with a careful eye on the muscled expanse of Łukasz' back while the bible slips from his loosening grip.

 

(The tournament goes as follows: They lose every single game and Kuba prays that this will one day be a footnote and not a highlight of his career. Scouts from Hertha Berlin are watching.) 

 

Łukasz comes to Kraków wearing orange. It's ghastly unflattering on his light skin and his jersey is still too big. Kuba spends the entire match wondering how Łukasz would look with it off.  

Even afterwards, when Łukasz is strolling over to him, socks slipping down his calves, he cannot shake the thought. Łukasz ruffles his hair, slaps his back; Kuba thinks it's a little weird considering they've not so much as spoken since Switzerland. He's not complaining but --

 

Kuba is making dinner for one and Łukasz all but invites himself to stay. He's polite despite that. He sits across from Kuba as he eats, keeping his elbows off the table as he drinks half a glass of orange juice. At some point Łukasz catches Kuba staring at him and Kuba's cheeks go momentarily pink beneath his stubble. He's not entirely sure he likes the way Łukasz sits there like a smug bastard (but then there's that too-wide smile again and Kuba stares down at his plate, forgetting why he was angry.) 

"I'm surprised you left Częstochowa," Łukasz says later, when Kuba is almost finished. He should be getting home soon - home to Ewa with the brown hair and beautiful eyes that he's probably going to marry one day. When Kuba asks why, Łukasz clears his throat and shrugs. "I don't know." 

Kuba lays down his knife and fork, pushes his plate away. "You can say it," he says. He pauses, watching Łukasz move uncomfortably in his seat. "You can ask." 

Łukasz shakes his head. He's not smiling anymore. "I don't think I want to." Łukasz drags his nails over the back of his neck, suddenly aware of the perspiration that's building at the collar of his t-shirt. 

"Good," Kuba says, nodding. Łukasz eyes him warily. "Good - you can just tiptoe around me like everybody else does then," Kuba spits out, thumping his fist down onto the table. Łukasz' empty glass jumps along with the cutlery. 

Łukasz lets himself out, white as a sheet; Kuba isn't sorry. 

It's the last time they see each other in a long time.

 

It's too fucking hot in Jerez de la Frontera. It's hot and unnecessary and if Łukasz doesn't stop looking at him from over Maciej's shoulder, Kuba's going to punch him. Punch him right in the nose where the sun is dyeing his nose with a reddish tint. _Put some sun cream on, you stupid prick_ , Kuba thinks, scowling from beneath the shade. 

Patience dwindling, Kuba politely excuses himself midway through one of Dariusz' tales about something or other, and braves the sun to get Łukasz. He makes up an excuse to get him away, but judging by the ease with which Łukasz gets to his feet, he doesn't really need to hear one anyway. Łukasz is easy like that. Reading Łukasz is easy. Łukasz smiles too fucking easy. 

"What?" he asks just as Kuba shoves him against the wall of his hotel room, holding him still with the a solid forearm across the base of his neck. Łukasz cocks his head to the side. He's broader now, t-shirt showing the swell of his bicep muscles, but his arms stay by his sides. _He wants this_ , Kuba thinks. "What is it, Kuba?" 

Leaning up, Kuba kisses him, hard and deliberate and unrelenting until Łukasz pushes him away. The bastard just smiles. 

 

Hotel rooms are convenient, be they in a foreign land as they travel (lose) with Poland or somewhere in between Dortmund and Berlin. Kuba prefers the thrill of it over the sex itself; he's not proud, not able to look at himself in the mirror or Agata in the eye when he returns home afterwards, but it doesn't stop him. He is not a weak man, not in any way, shape or form, but he is a man all the same despite his inherent knowledge of right and wrong. 

Kuba prays, still, but not for forgiveness. He knows wrong and wrong isn't the shameless way Łukasz spreads his legs a little wider and bites on his tongue when he's about to come. Kuba has made mistakes and fucking Łukasz (slowly, always slow) is not one of them. 

 

"Kuba, I'm getting married." Łukasz' fingers are twisting around each other as he looks at his feet. Kuba thinks he looks rather pathetic. 

"Congratulations," Kuba says, a stoic looks of resignation betraying him. "A summer wedding? How lovely. I'm sure you'll be very happy." His voice betrays him too. It doesn't crack but something changes; Łukasz takes a step back, unsure. 

"I'm sorry, Kuba," Łukasz offers next to receive nothing in return. Łukasz supposes he deserves nothing more than Kuba's silence. "Do you want to...?" Łukasz says, deciding that, if he can't give Kuba an apology (can't give him everything, heart and all), he might as well give him over his body instead. It's a compromise, but one Kuba accepts wordlessly.

Kuba pushes Łukasz down onto the bed, falling with him. He leans in, breath warm against Łukasz' neck, whispers, "Why does everyone feel so fucking sorry for me all the time?" and feels the older man shake beneath his hands. He knows the answer, he fucking knows, and it's not fair. Everything isn't fair but -- but Łukasz is so acquiescent and his body is so passive that Kuba feels for Ewa because this is the man that she's going to marry (just like Kuba always knew.)

It's not the same as before but it is what it is. Kuba fucks Łukasz and their eyes never leave each other until Łukasz drags himself out of bed, saying that he needs to go home. 

"This was the last time," Kuba says, watching him get dressed, not bothering to move himself. He doesn't even manage to convince himself, never mind Łukasz. 

 

Łukasz comes to Dortmund and he suits yellow much better than he ever did orange. Łukasz is here, with him, finally. Kuba, however, does not think about Łukasz when he looks back, fingers sweating, at the beautiful woman that makes her way up the aisle to come to a stop by his side. 

Kuba knows he can never have all that he has ever wanted (the possibility was taken away from him many, many years ago), but here, in this moment, he feels pretty damn close to complete. 

 

"Agata's pregnant," Kuba says. 

"So is Ewa," Łukasz says back, lips pressing together. He shifts from one foot to the other. "Kuba?" he asks, voice a little higher. He clears his throat. 

"What?"

Łukasz pauses, uncertain, and Kuba's pretty sure he knows what's coming next. "You're going to be a great dad."  

 

When Smuda gives the captaincy to Kuba, Łukasz thinks his heart might jump up his throat or break through his ribs from all the pride that's pumping through his bloodstream. He shouldn't, but he kisses Kuba on the corner of his mouth for good luck before the game though he's sure he doesn't really need it. Kuba shoots him a look, one that reminds him that they've have promised to stop whatever it is between them because they're going to be fathers and they just can't do this anymore, they just can't...

Afterwards, fingers lingering over the armband that's clinging to his bicep, Kuba looks at him differently, familiar. Łukasz tries to bite back a smile until Kuba tells him to stop, to just smile and kiss him. "On the mouth this time, idiot," Kuba adds. 

 

"How fucking stupid are you?" Kuba shouts. "Honestly, you of all people!" 

Łukasz is taken aback for a second before confusion clouds his brain. "I thought - Kuba, you told the press I picked the lesser of two evils, don't you believe that?" Łukasz asks, voice wound tight in his throat. He looks like he's going to cry.

Kuba presses his fingers into his own skull, looking at Łukasz with something akin to disappointment but not quite that. "I said what I had to say as captain. Smuda wants to hang you out to dry, make an example of you - and maybe he should." Kuba doesn't mean it, but he's angry. "And maybe Klopp should too." 

For the first, Łukasz looks angry at Kuba. _Yes_ , he thinks, _this is what I want. Finally_. "But we're friends, Jakub, you're supposed to me on my side when I do stupid shit." 

He is on his side. He always has been and he always will be. His voice is different when he speaks again, softer and quieter. "You were supposed to be the one that doesn't fuck things up." Kuba takes his hand, squeezes it tight before letting it go again. "But that's okay." 

 

Nothing comes of it, really. Łukasz is too important, too easy to forgive to be punished any worse than he already has been. The media witch-hunt will move onto someone new, Kuba says and Łukasz takes his word as gospel. 

 

When Łukasz hears someone banging on the door, he gets out of bed, careful not to wake up Ewa, and grabs a t-shirt to pull over his head. It's only an hour or so before his alarm would be going off, but he grumbles all the way to the door anyway. 

Kuba's standing there when he opens the door. His hair is askew and he looks like hell. 

"Jesus, Kuba," Łukasz says, motioning for him to come inside. "What happened?"

Łukasz takes him to the kitchen, pulls him out a chair and makes him drink a glass of water. "Come on, Kuba, why are you here at this time? We're supposed to be driving to Austria today." 

Kuba rests his head in his hands for a moment, breathing deep and loud. Łukasz kneels in front of him, rubbing circles into his knee with his thumb. Sometimes, unintentionally, Kuba makes Łukasz feel so useless because his problems are greater than anything Łukasz could ever pray to fix. 

"He's dead, Łukasz." 

Łukasz doesn't need to ask who. 

 

Kuba goes to his funeral and doesn't tell Łukasz why. (Why? Why, why, why? It'll always be the biggest question on Kuba's mind and Łukasz wishes he knew the answer - but no one does. Not anymore.) 

 

Kuba's fingers are still pointing to the sky when Łukasz leans down to press their foreheads together, hands cradling his skull, touching his cheeks, his hair. It's a misplaced moment in a summer of disappointment, deserving of a different time, a different place. Łukasz thinks, if he hasn't already, that he falls in love with Kuba in the only senseless and reckless way he knows how. They've never said it, but Łukasz knows it's there, hidden in the corner of Kuba's mind like something he's trying to forget, kill and burying forever. _No_ , Łukasz thinks, _no you can't shove me away. You can't._  

For a moment nothing else exists but them, and that's how Łukasz will remember it. 

After all this time, he thinks he deserves it. A beautiful memory. 

 

Some people to extraordinary things together and Kuba knows fine well that he and Łukasz are not those people. Łukasz likes to tell him that's he's pretty extraordinary on his own, extraordinarily brave, but Kuba just tells to shut up, that he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn't. Sometimes, he just wants to live without everything being some heroic victory. 

 

"You're my best friend," Kuba says one morning, arm flung carelessly over Łukasz chest. His chest is broader than it used to be, but so is everything else, and Kuba remembers that they were boys instead of men when they met. Kuba moves at the thought, pressing his face to Łukasz' shoulder, his open mouth against his skin. 

Łukasz touches his hair, smiles. "You're my best friend, too." 

(It, as they realise many years later, equates to something like _I love you_.) 


End file.
